Empty Ring: The Trickster

19.1.14.

Yes, Comrades

I solved the riddle of the sphinx - I've worked out why America won't be embracing football the real game any time soon. Have you got it yet? Football has how many halves per game? Think carefully now. Nope, not five. It's two, two halves. So if there's one break between the two halves, and no time outs, how many breaks would Americans get to phone in a hamburger or twelve and for advertisers to flaunt their shit? That's it! One. It'll never happen.

The day was off to its usual start, which doesn't tell much. The TV was on, which I tried so hard to understand, but nope. Think some pop music show was on, and you know how they have R & B charts, jazz charts, rock charts and that? Mark my words: there will be a 'Feat. Rihanna' chart of its own soon, the bitch is everywhere, she's like a fucking disease.

Irie Nancy and I were on our way to Dave and Buster's (or Sam and Dave's. Poor Mr Nancy) which is, I'm told, a bar and arcade. We go through Tempe, to the marketplace and park outside the place. So weird not to see a man with a limp in American car parks, you know those little bastards with NCP as well as I do. The place itself was fooking huge, a bar that could fit over a thousand people - the max occupancy said so.

So began my evening of being conned and tricked. Frogger played itself, you could only control his first jump. Temple Run was timed, so it made exactly zero difference how well you played. Spongebob bowling was unrealistic. Infinity Blade decides to kill you in one hit if you win too long. Seriously, fuck this shit.

Whoever was behind this trickery, be it Dave Dastardly or Buster Bustinmaballs, I was one unhappy bunny. Then people too young for me to physically remove kept hogging the Dark Escape 4D machine, which really did look the best. Fuckers. Didn't matter how much I strutted or flounced, the greedy little bastards weren't for budging. And the ticket redemption shop, which just rolls off the tongue, that annoyed me 'n' all. About 2000 tickets for a cushion? Go fuck yourself, San Diego.

Ok ok, I'm sorry, I'm calm. We finished our day eating salsa with unholy amounts of hotness then watched Street Kings. I don't love Keanu much, certainly not as much as Don Corlemoley (ok sorry, uncalled for) but it was a fairly decent movie. Hugh Truck was good in it too.